It’s no small miracle to get the whole fam (including me) where we need to go with the stuff we need to have. When I’m in charge I follow Emily’s checklists but the trek to the pool resembles a Mog Mile reenactment, the kids and I worn for the part on arrival. Moms seem to have some special, elusive superpower for bringing order to chaos. And making it look easy.
Rewind a couple hours to the chaos, and don’t let Jack’s sweet face fool you for one second. Emily has her system down and everything. Snacks and toys and sunscreen and the swimsuits that don’t force a mandatory evacuation on the entire pool, in case of an “accident.” Where do moms find out about all this stuff?
She doesn’t love my less is more approach to things like feeding the kids or drying them with a used T-shirt or keeping the sun off them. And as you might suspect, I’m beginning to see things her way.
Cars are a big deal. Lightning McQueen and Mater and the gang come with us wherever we go. We learned that one via a great meltdown.
Jack has taken to some strange dialect of alien where he says something completely incomprehensible and expects you to understand, and to repeat it back to him while fulfilling his request. It’s a big power struggle because he probably thinks he’s teaching us a new language and we just have to conform. Luckily, tickling works and laughing is universal, and he still fits in Em’s Kit Bag 32L, which makes him easier (but not easy, ever) to corral.
I almost brought the truck with batteries but this is the right one. I know because Emily put the other one back and this one came with.
Bourgie snacks don’t get eaten so we leave them at the grocery store. Fruit by the foot and Cheez-its for life. Or, at least, for kids on pool day. These go in the interior zip pockets, one of the upgrades we made to the Aviator’s Kit Bag.
Em tells me my greatest contribution is my ability to carry stuff, especially when strapped on. And ya know, I’m just happy to help.
Have you seen the Reservoir Dogs poster with all the gangsters and their black ties. Well, the amount of chaos they could cause pales in comparison to our crew, but strapping them in does help (for now).
Never travel with the kids in their swimsuits or you’re likely to find yourself doing some discreet sink washing. And for that matter, never ever get too familiar with a public sink. Parents know what goes down. But the downside here is the setup process takes as long as leaving the house. Good news: Chick-Fil-A binos are perfect for things like imitating Lindsey from GORUCK HQ, who snapped all these photos and who Jack may or may not have had a crush on (can you feel me nodding my head up and down yet?). Good thing we brought ’em.
Moms put sunscreen on, no tears.
I’m like, Jack get over here and he’s already sprinting away and I snatch him up and if you put it on harder it’ll go faster and the crying will be all over, soon enough.
She marvels at my ways, no doubt.
And while you’re just sitting there marveling on overwatch here’s some man stuff to swoon at. Beer drinking and badass gear and a baby in a shemagh with an Embrace the Suck patch and Babiators and Em is rolling her eyes, right now. “You’re ridiculous.”
You might be wondering what that red (damn is it paisley?) thing in the side is. It’s a changing mat, one of the better purchases made. Not pictured: using it 3 times since we showed up. Easy in easy out.
Cars diapers, I mean Pull-Ups, mean it’s time to go. A trick Jack has grown wise to.
And we’re off.
And Monster’s like, now you can load it up with all my snacks and stuff. I’m next, right?
Yes, Monster, you’re next.